The chamber fell silent again, each pondering past conflicts with the Wolfmage. At last Modru’s whisper sissed forth. “Does that fool Black Kalgalath have aught to do with this?”
“Mayhap, Lord Modru. Mayhap.” Andrak watched as servants continued to scuttle about, Rūcks scrabbling to and fro upon bandy legs. “The Drake still deems that I ward the Kammerling to protect him.”
“Fool,” sissed Modru. “But you were a bigger fool still to lose your true name to him.”
Andrak clenched his fists in rage but said nought.
“And what would you have me do, Andrak, what would you ask of me in this matter?” The darkness upon the throne leaned forward so as not to miss a word.
“Just this, Master,” came the Mage’s reply. “From the Kammerling itself I can gauge their nearness. When they come into the mountains of Xian, from the west and south, where there is no shelter, where there are no trees to huddle among, where there is nought to build even the crudest lean-to, then would I ask you to send forth a blizzard dire: one that will suck the very heat from them and dash it upon the cold grey stone of Xian; one that will draw the life from them and cast it hurling into the frigid wind; one that will freeze them like iron in their very tracks; one that will slay them with the icy grip of your distant hand. And when they die I will know it, for the pulsing of the Kammerling shall cease. . until some other fool sets forth to claim it. But these two fools are the ones who now come to take it, and they are the ones we must stop; for although the prophecy foretells of a twain that shall succeed, that augury knew not of your dread power, my Lord. You have the might to send down a terrible blizzard upon them, one that they cannot, will not survive. Set it upon them, Master, if it be your will; that is what I would ask of you.”
Modru leaned back, hissing laughter. “I like this plan of yours, Andrak, for it will yield me great pleasure. Long have I waited for such a game, for here within the Barrens the nights and days are overlong, and I would have an entertainment such as this to while away the time.” The darkness upon the throne seemed to swell, press outward. “There will come a day when no longer must I dwell in these environs, a day when a flaming star delivers that for which I wait in solitude. Then shall Mithgar feel the heel of my boot, the crush of my hand, the weight of my fist, the mass of my might, for then it will be that I shall set my own Master free, and then shall this world be mine!” Darkness filled the room.
But then the blackness seemed to gather once more upon the throne. “Yes. Yes. I do like this plan of yours, my Apprentice. The storm you desire shall be forthcoming; such a sending I have not done in years, and I would stretch my wings once more.
“Come to me when the time is right, when they are well within the grasp of the mountains, and then shall I destroy these interlopers of yours, then shall I bring Dalavar’s schemes to ruination.”
Bowing, slowly Andrak withdrew, and then flew upward through the solid stone and across the barren wastes above, fleeing along the thread of his journey southward unto his holt. While behind, a great darkness sat on a throne and thought upon a plan laid ages past, a scheme that at long last seemed to have a minuscule chance of fulfillment, could the strong or cunning or fortunate survive; and Rūcks continued to scurry about the banquet table, endlessly laying out a meal that no one would ever consume.
Another week fled, and then another, and closer came the duo, until at last the Kammerling indicated that they were nigh, that they had come unto the mountains of Xian, for the closeness of the pair was unmistakable in the beat of the intangible aura.
Once again the dark Apprentice called upon his vile Master, and came away in evil glee, for Modru would unleash elemental fury down upon these fools who sought to take that which Andrak warded.
And within but a single day a shrieking wind drove roiling dark clouds howling down upon the mountains, making the very stone shudder in the blast. Snow and ice hurtled ’cross the ’scape, whelming, scouring, obliterating.
Inside his dark fortress, Andrak paced, the juddering wind moaning and groaning across the turret above, shrieking ’round corners and about the tower, screaming in fury, snow and ice hurled aslant down through the air, hammering into the bulwarks, driven into great drifts.
And Andrak visited the chamber of the Kammerling, watching the tocsin beat of the invisible nimbus. And still the twain came onward. And Andrak’s anger was great, and he stalked through the whispering shadows and distorted stone corridors of his holt, and none dared cross his path.
Hours howled by, night fell, and the Mage again checked upon the pulse of the hammer. And lo! its cadence said that the twain yet lived, and came closer still.
Shrieking in rage, Andrak rushed down through the churning murk and tittering shadows, down spiralling stone stairs past angled edges, and slammed out through a dark wooden door made of an arcane black timber, coming unto the open bailey. And he fought against the pummeling wind, bending into its blast, and struggled a few steps across the cobbles and pitched up a ramp unto the battlements, lurching ’cross the banquette to clutch at the stone of the merlons and peer out into the blackness, hurtling ice stinging into his eyes. And he ranted in the howling darkness, shouting, raving. . but the raging wind and hurling ice took his words from him and shredded them and flung them crashing upon the mountains, and no one heard his voice yawling in the night.
And gnashing his teeth, grey foam spuming from his lips, his eyes bulging, his face black with wrath and covered with rime, his robes whipping about him, back into the depths of his holt he wrenched. Back into twisted chambers filled with clutching shadows and obscene whisperings. Back unto the place where the accursed Kammerling lay.
And he looked with hatred upon the token, and cursed the day that it was brought to him by that preening Drake, even though it was his Master’s plan all along. And even as his inner eye stared down at the abominable object, he began to laugh. Wildly. Hideously. The halls ringing with his ghastly mirth. .
… for the pulsations had ceased entirely.
CHAPTER 29
Late Fall, 3E1602
[The Present]
The Sun shone down upon Elyn and Thork, but little warmth did they gather from its light. Around them grey mountains reared upward, the stone barren and bleak. To the north and east stood one crest above the others, ebon as the night. “Yon lies our goal,” whispered Elyn, pointing.
“Nay, Princess,” responded Thork, his voice grim. “If the Wolfmage be right, it is but a way station along our route. Andrak’s holt is what we seek, and within, the Rage Hammer. This Black Mountain contains but a map to guide us to our destination.”
They stood and looked for long moments more; then, still leading Digger and Wind, down through the col they continued, the way turning northeasterly, heading for a winding vale below that led toward the dark ramparts ahead. Night fell ere they came down from the heights, and weary, they made camp in the curve of a mountain wall.
As they sat huddled with their backs against the chill stone rampart, no fire warmed them, for there was no wood to burn among this sterile rock. It was then that Elyn came at last to the conclusion that she and Thork had been working toward for many weeks.
“Prince Thork”-her voice was soft, yet filled with determination-“I would bespeak my mind.”
The Châkka warrior turned his face toward her, and in the pallid moonlight, his eyes glittered as would polished jet. And even though her features were shadowed by the Moon behind, still his own sight was such that he could see her clearly, her pale face like a lambent beacon shining from within, her clear vision sharp as that of the red hawk seen in days gone by. “Say on, Princess Elyn.”